


By The World Forgot

by drinkginandkerosene



Category: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Childhood, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gaslighting, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Multi, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkginandkerosene/pseuds/drinkginandkerosene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is erasing Grantaire, because after all, Grantaire erased him first. But as he watches his memories of the other man disappear one by one, he realises he doesn't want to forget. </p><p>Follows the timeline and plot of the film Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless mind, with Les Miserables characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The World Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is going to wow, not be a drabble for once. I'm going to try my best to actually finish this, since the plot is so strong and clear in my head, and imagining all the key moments of their relationship. I hope it's worth continuing.

The first thing that Enjolras noticed was the warm sunlight on his skin, the light filtering through his window making bright, blinding colours appear behind his still- closed lids.

The first thing Enjolras thought was: “I’m almost entirely sure I closed the blinds last night.” Enjolras was a man of habit, and he found it hard to sleep in a room that wasn’t entirely pitch black. Therefore, every night before he fell into bed, usually exhausted to his bones, he shut the blinds completely, and switched off anything that flickered with the slightest light. He found it easier too, to wake up in the comforting dimness that allowed him to start the day at his own pace. 

He sat up, hair a tangled mess down his back since he forgot to tie it back when he went to sleep apparently, and glared at the large window, as though it personally had decided to let it’s blinds down and wake him so rudely, before his alarm had even jarred his eardrums. 

He pushed the duvet down and started, furrowing his brow as he looked down at the fabric covering his slight body. Enjolras was not accustomed to wearing pajamas to bed. He preferred Combeferre’s old t-shirts and his embarrassing red, heart patterned boxers. But yet, here there was a pair of dark blue flannel PJs on him. He sat perfectly still for a moment, trying to dredge up any memory he had of buying them. But then, he had been exhausted last night. He had got home, and got into bed, and was asleep. Perhaps he picked them up from the store on a whim. With a internal shrug, he climbed out of bed, feeling his joints crick in place. Old bones. 

His morning routine was always the same. First, a scolding hot shower that burnt some feeling into the skin of his, made him feel clean. The hair drying was next, it took long enough. Long, languid strokes with a brush designed to make his hair curl, not tangle. He decided today, as he did fairly regularly, to wear it in a pony tail, strands framing his face as though it were a work of art. Make up, he applied like war paint. Other men had armour, he had said once before, but he had something even better.

Clothes were a different matter. He grabbed the first thing to hand, and threw them on, his only breakfast for the day a piece of wholemeal toast as he slung on his messenger bag, which he had filled with lunch and a journal, before leaving his apartment building, back into the bright morning sunshine, that made Enjolras squint. 

“Oh you got to be fucking kidding...” His bike, Enjolras’ only form of transportation, had a dent in it. It was tied to the lamppost outside his building, since he knew everyone around here, and there seemed to be a rather unified agreement not to rob the guy who was always willing to help people move in, or lend you money when you were down on your luck. He strode over to the bike, looking at the damage, groaning. He was going to be late for class now, he’d have to get the fucking bus to the station. He had sweaty men taking up too much room to look forward to. He glared at the car parked in front of where his bike was tied. He wasn’t quite passive-aggressive enough to leave a note, but he was aggressive enough to definitely confront the owner of said beat up Camero about this later. 

The station was no less packed than the bus that preceded it, rows of people contemplating why they still go to a job they hate. Enjolras made daily vows that he would never be one of them, never would be someone who simply worked for a weeks holiday and some misguided notion about a work ethic. He could never be that person. He was working for a degree simply because he loved to learn, his degree would really make a difference. It was like a manta.

Another train pulled in across the way, snow swirling around the machine, making everything shades of grey and white.   
“Train to Montauk-“

And then he was running, full pent, sprinting up the stairs that lead to the other platform, lungs burning. Afterwards, he couldn’t have told you why he had done it, why he had this sudden movement in his limbs, and why his heart seemed to stop at the thought he could miss this train which he had apparently just decided to take. He barely made it, ankle getting caught on the door before he tugged it in with a sharp snap as the doors closed.


End file.
